


Imperfections

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Bad Sex, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:45:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8359498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: After all the stories Porthos has heard about Aramis and his lovers, he'd expected Aramis would be perfect at it.
Turns out it's the opposite.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jlarinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jlarinda/gifts).



> JL gave me a prompt about two years ago that was basically just a request for "an ode to imperfect, ridiculous sex." So that's exactly what I did because today is JL's birthday and I _wanted_ to write another story entirely but my schedule has been insane so, alas, this is what you get and I hope you enjoy it. ♥

**1.**  
When Porthos first tumbles into bed with Aramis, it’s after months of build up – months of hearing stories, of seeing the lingering glances women sent him, hearing the whispered murmurs of appreciation at the parties. After months of Aramis meeting his eye across the table at breakfast, slow smiles, his hand lingering a touch too long holding his hand when helping him up after a long battle. Heat. 

He knows Aramis’ reputation – perfect and skillful, nurturing and dedicated. He’s heard those stories. Once or twice (or more times still) he’s considered what it would be like to press Aramis down into the bed, to pull himself up over him. Has considered, more than he’ll ever admit, those moments on watch, sitting around a fire outside of Paris, the others asleep save for them – the firelight flickering in Aramis’ hair, his eyes soft, their eyes meeting from across the flames—

He’s considered, far more than he’ll ever admit. And now, after months, after what feels like too long, Aramis’ clothes are unfolding under Porthos’ fingertips – Aramis’ mouth is canted up, the slow slide of his lips and tongue, the scratch of his beard against his bottom lip. It’s how he imagined. It’s how he thought it’d be, and more, different. Aramis’ body moving under his hands, the taste of his skin, the slow slide of his smile. He’s built this up, considered what it would be like, what Aramis is like in bed after all those stories. 

As it turns out, though—

Aramis, hands planted on the bed over Porthos, leaning in to nuzzle at his jaw, slips out from underneath his own weight and ends up toppling forward, cracking his jaw down hard against Porthos’ shoulder. 

Porthos swears, flinching at the sudden burst of pain, and Aramis groans, cradling his chin. He moves up slowly, hand cupping his own chin, working his jaw and his brow furrowed. He looks at Porthos. 

And then he starts _cackling._

“Y—Your _face_ ,” Aramis giggles helplessly, already hiccupping in his attempt to breathe. He bows forward, laughing, his forehead pressing to Porthos’. 

Porthos watches him for a moment, the helpless way he laughs, already imagining the bruise that’ll bloom out along the underside of his chin, beneath his beard. 

The mood is thoroughly broken. 

And Porthos starts to laugh, too – helplessly at first, just looking at Aramis, watching the way he snorts and hiccups – thoroughly unattractive and yet making Porthos feel lighter already. He can’t help but duck his head, too, and start laughing. And once they both start, they can’t stop. It goes on for a few long minutes, the two of them just giggling together. 

 

**2.**  
Aramis breathes out a small, pleased sigh as Porthos pulls him down to kiss him. They’re on his bed, the day already half-gone and free for a few hours now. They have time. They start slow – taking their time, just breathing in each other’s space. The drag of Porthos’ teeth, the hitch of Aramis’ breath—

They kiss, Aramis folding into Porthos, his hands touching at his neck, his shoulders, sliding down his arms and over his ribs. Unable to stop touching, it seems. He hums out happily when Porthos deepens the kiss, squirming in closer.

Porthos runs his hands over him, too. Skims his fingers up his back, tugs at his hair once before sliding his fingers up to cradle his skull, kissing him long and slow. Aramis sighs.

Porthos drags his fingers through Aramis’ hair, slow and steady – and then his fingers hit a block. He cringes at the sticky feeling against his fingers. 

He lurches back from the kiss, nose wrinkling. 

“What the hell is that?” Porthos asks, yanking his hand back. He tugs hard at Aramis’ hair in the process. His hands fly up to examine his hair, frowning. 

“I don’t know, it’s—” Aramis starts, then draws his hand back to see a clump of mud stuck with pieces of grass and some of Aramis’ hair. Also some blood, likely from the last fight they’d gotten into earlier that day while on patrol. “—Ah.” 

Porthos stares at it in a quiet kind of shock. 

Aramis rolls it across his gloved palm before humming out thoughtfully and letting it drop down to the ground. They continue to stare at it as it makes a rather attention-grabbing _plop_ noise. 

Porthos eyes Aramis, suspicious. “What else do you have in there?” 

“Nothing!” Aramis says, looking somewhat offended. Then he waggles his eyebrows. “But you could always double-check.” 

Porthos snorts out, unable to hide his smile – and he pushes Aramis by the shoulder. Aramis laughs, flopping backwards onto his bed. He waggles his eyebrows at Porthos again, looking utterly absurd. 

“If I find bugs next, I’m leaving,” Porthos tells him – and leans down to kiss the laugh from Aramis’ mouth. 

 

**3.**  
One night, in the midst of getting fucked, Aramis whispers against Porthos’ mouth, “I want you to fuck me with a gun to my head.” 

And it shouldn’t be hot. It _shouldn’t_ , but it sparked something through Porthos. Now, here they are, Aramis on his knees and smiling sweetly up at Porthos – his eyes bright, hopeful, already half-hard as Porthos takes out the ammunition and snaps the pistol into place. 

He whines out happily, planting his hands on Porthos’ thighs and squirms closer as Porthos lowers the gun slowly, pressing it to his temple. Aramis breathes out, closes his eyes, and leans into that touch. 

“Good?” Porthos asks, his voice huskier than he’d expected. He swallows down thickly. Aramis hums out. 

He opens his eyes again, looking up at Porthos. He leans forward, kissing Porthos’ stomach, the curve of his hipbone. Turns his head so that the gun’s barrel slides against his cheek. His breath rushes out of him in a small quiver. He likes this. He likes this a lot. Just seeing his reaction is enough to get Porthos hard. 

“Good,” Aramis whispers, unnecessary. 

Porthos laughs – nervous, turned on, unable to think of anything teasing to say. So he just smiles. “Go on, then.” 

Aramis laughs out, too – cheeks flushed, lips full and curved into a smile. He won’t stop looking at Porthos, chin tipped up. 

“Go on,” Porthos tells him again. 

Aramis whines again, quieter this time, and breathes out. Then he waggles his eyebrows – thoroughly ridiculous, as usual – and moves to kiss the gun. He kisses Porthos’ knuckles first, the one finger resting against the trigger without any danger behind it, just the shadow of danger. He kisses his wrist, the tendons there. Then kisses the pommel. Then moves back, drags his tongue down the length of the gun, his tongue flicking up at the opening—

—and then gags. Hard. 

Porthos doesn’t have time to react before Aramis jerks his head back. He spits out, rubbing his hand over his mouth, his nose wrinkling. 

“Wh—” Porthos starts to say and Aramis shakes his head, waving his hand. 

When he speaks again, it’s somewhat morose: “… Alright, that gunpowder does not taste nice.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Porthos asks, and then can’t help but start laughing. Aramis slaps his hand, lightly, against his thigh – but soon starts laughing, too.

When Porthos kisses him, he tastes the gunpowder on his tongue and ends up having to draw back to spit, too, though. 

 

**4.**  
And never mind the whole debacle after they followed up on Aramis’ request for Porthos to fist him. 

 

**5.**  
They’re pushed flush in a back alley when Aramis whispers against his ear, “What if I suck you off right now?”

Porthos makes a strained, gasping sound – desire jolting through him like a hot coal.

Aramis steps back, whips his coat back away from his knees so he can knee down – and accidentally loses his footing in a puddle, topples forward, and sprains his wrist in his attempt to block his fall. 

“How did you manage that?” d’Artagnan asks him the next day when Aramis comes to the breakfast table with his wrist bandaged up. 

Aramis sniffs and waves his uninjured hand distractedly. He doesn’t even attempt to explain to poor d’Artagnan even once Porthos starts snorting out his laughter. 

 

**6.**  
Aramis’ fingers in his hair, guiding him forward tentatively so that Porthos’ mouth slides down over his cock. He doesn’t pull Porthos along, hardly guides him – just lets Porthos set the pace. 

He bucks up his hips abruptly and Porthos chokes. He draws back with a frustrated sound and sends Aramis a withering look. 

Aramis, for his part, looks apologetic – his hands dropping down to cup his cheeks, thumb fanning over his bottom lip, the spittle and puffy red. 

“Forgive me,” he tells him, quite solemnly. Porthos bites his fingers and then moves forward again, suckling around Aramis’ cockhead. Aramis groans happily and all is forgiven. 

He’s stroking his hand over Aramis’ cock, licking slowly – when Aramis gasps out, tries to speak, and draws back quickly from Porthos’ mouth—

Just in time for Aramis’ to come, for it to hit Porthos in the eye. He swears, loudly in his surprise, and jerks back – ducking his head and rubbing his eye, blinking rapidly. 

“Shit!” 

Aramis makes a gasping, squeaking kind of plea and hurries to kneel down in front of Porthos – reaching for him. 

“I’m sorry!” he gasps out. “I don’t – that never happens—!”

Which just makes Porthos start to laugh. He shoves at Aramis, anyway. Aramis fishes around in his discarded pants for his handkerchief and spends an absurdly long time wiping the come from his face even as Porthos continues to laugh. 

“This is ridiculous,” he tells him and Aramis kisses him extra sweetly, clearly still guilty. 

Porthos fists his hand in Aramis’ hair and pulls him forward, kissing him hard – just to show him he isn’t angry. 

 

**7.**  
Aramis kisses him sweetly, murmuring quiet words of encouragement. They’ve been moving slowly all night, Aramis’ hands ghosting over Porthos’ hypersensitive body. It isn’t the first time he’s done this – but it’s been long enough that they need the time to settle into this, need time to ease Porthos open. 

Aramis kisses every inch of him. Aramis moves his fingers over his cock, against his inner thighs, uses a generous amount of oil – a devastatingly expensive amount of oil, Porthos thinks but does not say. 

Aramis has two fingers buried inside of Porthos – and it feels strange, but good. Aramis knows how to turn his wrist, twist his fingers. He runs his other hand over Porthos’ thigh, squeezes his hip, strokes over his cock so it doesn’t start to flag. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Aramis tells him, which is always embarrassing to hear but also makes Porthos feel warm all over. He reaches his hand up, curls his fingers tight in his hair and gives him a small, panting smile. 

“I’m ready for another,” Porthos tells him, spreads his legs and angles his hips up. 

Aramis nods, draws his fingers back and coats his hand in more oil, squeezing the third finger in slowly. And then—

The sound of Aramis’ fingers moving out of Porthos makes a sucking, squelching sound. They both freeze, Aramis’ eyes flying open and locking with Porthos’. 

They stare at one another.

And then Aramis wrinkles his nose. Which just makes Porthos start laughing – embarrassed, delirious, but giddy. 

“ _God_ ,” he gasps out, breathless from amusement. He wriggles his hips, kicking his foot at Aramis’ thigh lightly, and just starts _belly laughing._ He can’t help it. 

Aramis has at least attempted to hide the wrinkled nose, the involuntary reaction to the sound. But it only makes it more hilarious to Porthos, that he should be trying to look cool and proper in this moment. Eventually, he starts to laugh, too.

Once they both get control of themselves, they’re both soft again and cuddled up to each other. 

“I will never be able to afford this oil again,” Porthos tells him, quite seriously. Which just makes Aramis giggle-snort and send them off into another gush of amusement. 

 

**8.**  
There was also that one time Aramis told Porthos to tie him to the bed and to make it tight – and then Porthos made it so tight that they couldn’t get the knots undone. 

 

**9.**  
“This isn’t going to work if we don’t have oil,” Porthos tells him, rolling his eyes. 

Aramis sniffs and tilts his head, letting his hair fall in the way that he knows Porthos likes. “My dearest Porthos, don’t be so quick to dismiss!” 

Porthos just arches a brow at him. 

“Let me show you,” Aramis says and kisses his collarbone. 

And show him he does. Aramis hums out happily, waggling his eyebrows up at him as he works his way down Porthos’ body, all lips and dragging tongue. He holds Porthos’ eyes the whole time and Porthos bites his lip, lifting his hips up once Aramis is closer – groaning softly when Aramis curls his mouth, briefly, around the head of his cock. 

“I’ll show you,” Aramis says again, hot breath against the curve of his hip. 

Then he works down, lower and lower still, pressing peppering kisses against Porthos’ thighs, the base of his cock, his balls—

Then lower—

Porthos stars as Aramis licks over him, hands parting his legs. Aramis parts his cheeks, drags the flat of his tongue a couple of times, eyes lowered now to the task. 

Porthos, tense, tries to keep still – tries to wait. But it becomes too much and he squirms with a loud snort, wriggles back in an effort to get away and accidentally kicks Aramis hard in the stomach. 

“That tickles!” Porthos gasps out, helplessly, when Aramis gives him a vastly betrayed look. 

 

**10.**  
“You can’t be this way with everyone you’re with,” Porthos says, disbelieving after their round of sex is over. A round of sex that nearly resulted in a black eye for Aramis. 

Aramis hums and flops down beside him. He nudges his knee against Porthos’ side until Porthos shifts and curls his arm around him, drawing him in close so that they’re cuddled up together. 

“What do you mean?” Aramis asks, pressing a kiss to a scar over Porthos’ heart. Porthos rumbles out happily, slowly relaxing. 

“All those stories,” Porthos explains. “Of your perfect skills and all that.” 

Aramis gives him a vaguely scandalized look. “Monsieur, to gossip is a vice!” 

Porthos tries his hardest not to smile – he almost succeeds. It twists up his face and he snorts out softly when Aramis leans in and kisses the tip of his nose. He lifts his hand, brushing the hair away from Aramis’ face. He smiles up at Porthos, soft and sweet. 

“Just… all those stories don’t really… fit,” Porthos says – moving cautiously, not wanting to imply any sort of lack of satisfaction on his part. But their sex doesn’t suit the stories at all – the mishaps, the mistakes, the injuries. 

Aramis shrugs, tracing his fingertips down his chest. “For many of them, it’s a bit of a game, isn’t it?” Aramis asks. He smiles up at him – softer still, fond with love. “With you, I don’t have to pretend.” 

Porthos quiets. 

Aramis laughs out, his hand lifting to touch Porthos’ cheek. “I can be myself with you. I hope you feel the same.” 

Porthos manages a small nod – tightens his hold around Aramis. Aramis hums and tips his chin up – kissing Porthos, gentle. Porthos melts into the kiss, lets Aramis drag his thumb down along his cheek. Lingers close. Breathes him in. 

He knows the truth of this. Aramis has never pretended. Doesn’t perform, doesn’t lie. He’s himself in these moments – his expression fond, but his cheeks pillow-creased, drool on his chin, a nasty bruise on his shoulder. 

“I do,” Porthos tells him, quiet. 

Aramis smiles more. It lights up his entire face. “Then why should I be anyone but myself?” 

Porthos finds nothing to say in argument, and knows that his smile is absolutely besotted in that moment. He pulls Aramis in for another kiss. Aramis melts into him.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/), as always.


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